Wonderwall
by MawillaMakesMayhem
Summary: You can't always protect the ones you love, and Raynvir finds that out the hard way. Vilkas/M!OC, one-shot.


**A/N: Why hello there, gorgeous! Now, what you've stumbled upon is a plotbunny that's been walking around in my head for a while now. It's basically about a Skyrim character that I _never _got around to creating in the game, but he has managed to fascinate me nonetheless. I'm going through a terrible writer's block with my other longer fic, so I wrote this one as an attempt to get out of it. I hope it turned out okay, this is just how it all played in my head so yeah. **

**And yes, this one-shot contains slash. Just a friendly warning. Also, I was listening to "Wonderwall" by Oasis when writing the majority of this story, so I'm pretty sure that's where I got the title from. I was planning on changing it, but the name just stuck. :o**

**Now, get to reading, you beautiful person! :D  
-Mawilla**

* * *

**Wonderwall**

He squinted hard at the finely written letters on the thin parchment, the material feeling weightless in his hands. It was the type of feeling he disgusted_—_sensitive, susceptible, _powerless. _Just the very thought of that woman judging his legitimacy as a human being prompted his stomach to boil with intense animosity, his hands shaking uncontrollably at her printed words. A vessel in his brain burned furiously, feeling his teeth grind unknowingly against each other with an impeccable force. Heat compressed his skin, closing in on him to choke and suffocate him with delirious pleasure.

"Raynvir."

His grandfather's husky, hardened voice broke the mind-burning silence. The words that had been written in thick, black ink on the parchment pestered him, coercing his eyes to burn the letters into his mind. The steady, paced breathing of his grandfather was more palpable as a dead silence pasted itself on the room, the flicks and cracks of the fire giving off a warm atmosphere. However, deep in the depths of his heart, it was chillier than the ice lakes near Winterhold. His blood sparked with fire, a heated fury burning with the image of that black-hearted woman.

He listened to the soft shifting of movement from the old Nordic man behind him, the wooden cane he carried with him creating a bang of noise as it landed on the stone floor. His grandfather spoke gently, "Listen, she's not going after you... Gods, or maybe she is_—_the woman's unpredictable." He paused, placing a hand underneath his white-haired beard before he spoke again, "All she wants is some sort of ol' family jewel for gold."

_Gold, it's all about gold. As if she gives a shit about me, _Raynvir mused, his pique snapping as his conscience. He ran a hand through his hair, tossing the letter onto the dining table next to him, a soundless ring of noise evolving as it landed on the hard wood. The black words seeped through the parchment, his eyes squinting at the crumbled piece of paper. The sudden image of Vilkas ran through his mind, plotting itself in the very center of his fury. However, he felt his breathing slow, pacing itself to the beat of his heart as he pictured his husband's fierce beauty and feisty tongue.

"Rayn," his grandfather called out to his back, plucking his words carefully. The aging Nord sighed lightly, steadying himself from one leg to another. His fingers rubbed his temples, trying to find the words to describe that woman's hurtful, and unceasingly rude sentences. "I don't think she's going after you. I believe she is trying to use you to get after me."

"After _you?" _the blonde Nord snapped out, looking over his shoulder to see the wrinkles and fine lines that planted themselves around the porcelain face of his grandfather. "She mentioned Vilkas, she went after _him," _the words flung out of Raynvir's mouth, something his mind wasn't adjusted to. Before it had been just about what she had done for him, how she left him, a constant back-and-forth between an aging woman and a fully grown man. Her words had annoyed him, a decaying body filled with hate and fire burning in the back of his mind.

The letter made it even more personal.

"She's not going after your... _husband,"_ the old man spoke, feeling a shiver crawl with cool rejection on his skin at the word of 'husband'. "Vilkas has nothing to do with this. All I know is that she wants to get some gods-damned jewel that belonged to your great-grandmother."

Rayn cooled his temper, the flickers of his fury reaching out to a height that was perilous if touched. His breathing echoed among the flames of the fire, clenching his fists in an attempt to relieve his anger. "Fine," he breathed, his voice trembling. Shutting his eyes from the brightness of the candlelight around him, he continued, "I'm getting the jewel. Where is it?"

The young Nord could feel the astonishment circling around his grandfather, a silence creeping up to take its place between the two men. The old man eyed his grandson, squinting at his lightened figure near the fireplace. "Raynvir Red-Claw," he spat out, a way to intimidate the man he had helped raise. "You are _not _going after that jewel! Not on your own!"

The harsh tone the old man lashed out bounced off the walls, forcing Rayn's skin crawl at the sound of his full name. It was probably in a dungeon, in one of those old Nordic ruins he always heard about. Dusty, decaying draugr were guarding it, no doubt, and for an old heirloom to end the bitter rivalry made his heart seethe with screams of violence, to snap out of his cage with bolts of flames. _That's not who I am, _he realized. Calm, stoic, maybe even taciturn was how his family saw him_—_a steady man with a kind, yet reasonable heart; a hardened man with a soft, gentle temper, who spoke softly even in his worst of fires. That was how his _family _saw him, that was how his _friends _saw him, that was how _Markarth _saw him.

And they were all wrong.

He gave a dark gaze to his grandfather, who stood like a stone statue on the other side of the room. The tense silence grew heavier, enough to strangle Raynvir with a primal urge to scream furiously at the woman's attempts to defile him, to degrade him for who he was. "Tell me where the heirloom is," he demanded, his voice hardening, yet shaking with an unknown emotion. "I'll get the jewel so I can end this."

"Listen to me, Rayn," the old man hissed. "If you're getting that jewel, it will guarantee your death."

"You seem to forget that I studied at the College of Winterhold for half of my life."

"And you seem to forget where your place in this family is."

Taken aback by his grandfather's sudden snap of words, Rayn turned around. His hazel eyes were laced with a dark emotion, a want to grab the jewel and shove it down the woman's throat. _"Tell _me where it _is," _he said, his demand coming through as a harsh growl. He studied the old Nord's eyes, a sense of fear and reluctance buried within them. Rayn kept his ground, his nails digging intensely into his palm as the silence coming from his grandfather pushing his rage into a new level.

"Ragnvald," the old man finally caved in, however a voice in his head immediately regretting allowing his precious grandson_—_the boy who _he _raised_—_to have the guarded knowledge of knowing where the jewel had lied since he was an infant. Something in his heart wanted him to eat his words, to take them back without any consequences, yet that was impossible now. "It's in Ragnvald, the ruin near here... Your mother wants that jewel, and she doesn't care who's she going to stomp on to get it."

_She's selfish like that. She abandoned you to make her life easier, and now she wants to ruin yours, _Raynvir mused. _I'm getting that fucking jewel whether anyone likes it or not._

* * *

He didn't care, but neither did she. There was no goodbye, only the silence and darkness to bid him farewell. He took one deep breath as he packed three health potions, the pulsing fire in his heart pacing with the steady, skipping beat. However, the silence within the stone city created an echo of voices begging him to stay, to drag him back down into reality. He examined the torchlights that appeared to be so far away, a dream even. A vibrant, loud voice within his head said it was fake, said to turn around and go home. He didn't listen, shutting his eyes tight to shut out the voice that berated him for pressuring his grandfather for the answer.

The ruin had been discarded, rubble growing into the ground. Tall arches doned the structure, time and harsh weather creating an aging affect on the ruin. However, he was fascinated by it, so much history stored within the architecture. His mind drifted off towards the bodies of the two draugr that guarded the entrance, studying their frail bodies, dotted with dust and long trails of ancient scars. Their eyes had attracted him the most, staring up at him lifelessly as his hands washed over their bodies. Fascinating they were_—_how they functioned, their movements, and their ways of communications. Yet he knew he had to move.

A single fireball could turn one into dust, he found out along his way. His apprentice robes had gleamed with the enchantment he had placed on them, his hands tickling with the sensation the flames gave off. He listened closely to the oily and trembling grunts the walking bones huffed out, their armor shaking with their every gradual move. The candles danced off the rusty walls, which closed in on him with a hefty laugh. The voice in his head spoke again, not to tell him to turn back, but to continue forward. Time seemed to slip from his mind, hours perhaps passing by without a care as he wandered throughout the ruin.

A brightly lit chamber came next, almost beautiful in his eyes. Every item his eyes dodged at, the stone making up the bridge old, worn, and rusty with age. Rayn stopped, lowering his hands, the sizzling tickles the flames gave leaving his skin as he examined his surroundings. It was silent, almost too silent within the room. The ancient history that laid within the ruin was amazing, the study of the giant room before him giving off a lifeless aura. A dull moment some could say, yet he was enticed by it, almost prompted to search every bookcase, jar, and corner. It was... _beautiful. _

No. Nothing was more beautiful than his Vilkas.

A draugr was what was in front of him, glaring at him with glowing eyes. Its armor was darkened with dirt, time and age wearing it down. However, its mere presence forced Rayn to divert his attention onto the dead, and rather smelly, Nord. He immediately stood defensively, raising his hands as he commanded his magicka. The ghosts of fierce tickles flooded his palms from the fire.

He didn't wait. The first strike was a fire bolt, centering right at the draugr's chest. The ancient man stumbled back, a harsh growl escaping his charred lips as he bolted forward. Enough time was spent for Raynvir to snatch his dagger, yet his mind chastised him, knowing a small weapon was no clear match against the shield and axe of the draugr. He bashed his dagger against the raised shield of the fierce man, showering more fire unto its blackened skin. Rayn's heart picked up speed before he lashed his knife deep within the veins and flesh of the draugr, numbing it as its eyes went wide, almost losing its glow. A sigh of relief was taken as the Nord fell to the ground.

_"No!"_

The piercing, robust voice echoed throughout the chamber. Raynvir whipped around, alerting himself to arm his hand with fire. The darkness of the hall increased to a sizable aura, his heart picking up speed in his chest. His blood throbbed in his veins, the heat in the dull air choking him as the sudden voice repeated itself in his mind.

Yet there was no one there.

Fighting_—_that was what he heard in the distance, blurred by the thick walls. The only thing that accompanied him was the darkness and the dim lighting that pierced through it, yet it could've been draugr fighting draugr. Those ancient beings spoke without meaning, without knowledge. Without a second thought, Rayn trailed forward, landing his feet precisely on the floor. The cracks of the brown, stiff leaves evolved against the clashing sounds of metal and heavy breaths. The end of the hall had brightened with the candlelight, the sounds of draugr filling his ears.

He fire a bolt at the two draugr standing by, their bodies reacting to the fire with much tension. The dust was consumed, the bones becoming weak as they collapse, the fire drying off the bodies without any difficulty. However, he heard a gasp of air come from in front of the dead draugr, a breath that bounced off the walls. The voice in his head prompted him to come forward towards the brightly lit chamber, yet his hands went weak from what his eyes had witnessed below the bridge.

"Raynvir...? Is that you?"

A blow to the heart, a weight nothing could lift. "Aela," he managed to choke out, a thick lump forming in his throat. His eyes drifted off from the woman, her flaming red hair sticking to her painted face, the sultry air giving off pants of thickness. Even the stabbed draugr lying steadily on the floor couldn't tear Raynvir away from what he saw, and felt. "What... What are you doing here?" he finally said, not even sending an awkward glance to Aela.

"Contract to get some family heirloom. Turns out it was all a trap," the woman said, her voice trembling with her hands equally disturbed. However, she gathered her strength and placed her bow aside, crawling over to her shield-siblings.

Rayn didn't wait that time either. He jumped down from the bridge, not giving a sense to the height or warning of hurting himself. The love of his life was more important as he suddenly forgot why he was there. The feeling was unlike any other, overwhelming and taking control of him to the point where even his senses became dim. Farkas looked up towards him, his eyes wide with anxiety and his hands trembling as he held his brother closely against his chest. The warrior was honorable, Rayn had realized long ago; honorable, especially towards his brother, and that was something Rayn had immediately cherished.

"Farkas," he breathed, placing a hand on the armored shoulder of the Companion. He had decided to tread lightly with his words as he witnessed the muscular man bury his face within his twin's hair, making his heart wrench even more. "What in Oblivion happened?"

"He fell," Farkas said, his usually impervious voice suddenly overcome with anguish and intense worry. He tightened his grip around his brother, holding him as if he was a frightened child with a teddy bear. Rayn's eyes trailed onto Vilkas, who laid lifeless in his brother's arms. A leap went to his heart at the sight, a strike that could kill, a bash that could render one paralyzed. He couldn't take it in, he just _couldn't. _"He tripped..." Farkas sobbed, almost to a whisper. "H-He hit his head on a stone, and now he won't wake up."

_He won't wake up._

Aela crawled her over to them, wiping her forehead to leave a thin trail of dirt upon her skin. Her eyes were harder than a stone when she glanced over to the brothers, muttering under her breath, "We used all our health potions on the way here. Either he recovers or he dies."

"He's going to die!?" the distraught Farkas called out, sending an abashed gaze to the huntress. "He can't die!" he continued, his voice was as strong as he was, and it bounced off the walls. Tears stained his face, cutting marks on the dirt that pasted itself on his skin.

"He's not going to die," Rayn assured, resting both his hands on the warrior's shoulders. His hands were shaking wildly underneath his brother's body, the atmosphere around them intensifying. Raynvir's mind urged to scream and kick at Aela for such a comment, and he would've. However, he immediately knew it wasn't the time for arguing. It was something much more than petty fighting. "Did he fall on his head?" he asked, swallowing much harder than he anticipated.

Farkas simply nodded before Rayn spoke again, "I have to try... a-and heal him."

_He won't wake up. _

_He's going to die. _

The Companion looked up at him, almost terrified. The look in his eyes was something Raynvir couldn't forget_—_a magnified trepidation, a storm that had reached its peak, a call for help to save his brother. Time wasn't on his side that time, although usually it was. Something was very alien; honorable, fierce, _strong _was what Rayn had once used to describe his beloved husband. Yet at that moment, he wasn't so strong. Yet at that moment, he was vulnerable, delicate, almost fragile.

"Farkas," he said gently, his voice mirroring his disturbed state. His arms had begun to place themselves underneath Vilkas's body, but Farkas pulled himself away violently. The warrior wailed back, huddling his twin closer to him. Raynvir took a breath, his stomach twisting from within him. "You and I both want Vil to be alright," he stated, his voice quiet and small. "Please, I have to try and help him."

With that, Farkas loosened the death-grip he had around his brother. He felt himself falling, not physically, but mentally. His heart had been stabbed, burned and tortured without any mercy. No one else knew him better, no one else knew his strengths, no one else knew his fear of Frostbite spiders. Trusting Raynvir was something that came naturally_—_they shared their love of mead, and their undying respect for the Companions. Rayn took care of his brother; sending flowers when he was sick, hugging him deeply when emotions boiled over was all something Farkas noticed. It was something he automatically registered as love.

Raynvir took hold of Vilkas as if he was a little glass dragon. The warrior's mane of hair fell into his face, his expression emotionless and peaceful. A chill crawled of Rayn's skin, holding his husband close to him. He placed his hand gently on the back of the Companion's head, a coolness coming onto his palm. Vilkas was warm though, not chilly and pale like the corpses he saw in Markarth's Hall of the Dead. With a sense like that, it gave him comfort.

A dark coating of blood stained his hand, his fingers feeling out the scraped skin. His heart pounded against his rib cage as he swallowed, the damned voice in his head calling for him to use his magic. Rayn glanced up, his eyes following Aela as she reached over to Farkas, who buried his face in his hands. Sobbing perhaps, nonetheless it struck a chord in Raynvir's heart. He felt the magicka pulse throughout his veins as a ring of noise evolved against the silence of the chamber. His healing spell glowed within his love's dark hair, his palm feeling the closing of the skin.

He took a deep sigh, resting Vilkas on the ground. Removing his hand swiftly, he examined his husband's still presence. His eyes were what fascinated him the most_—_an icy blue, as white as the snow he witnessed fall on the land around him. He was tantalized by Vil's frisky and cold demeanor, sometimes marveling at the warmness his brother had within him. Rayn stared at him, watching him intensely as he lied motionless on the ground in front of him. A tense chill was in the air, Farkas's loud cries piercing his ears.

_You have to wake up, my love. I need you. _

_Wake up. You need to wake up. I love you. _

Vilkas twitched.

He was alive.

He was _alive. _

Rayn rushed over. His heart leaped at his love, who rose his arm up to press his temples. A slight moan escaped Vilkas's lips, a pulsing sensation stuck in the cage of his head. Farkas bolted up, crawling over frantically to his brother. He hovered over Vilkas, his eyes wide from a sudden look of sunshine within the storm. The injured Companion merely looked up at the faces before him, his eyes burdening and his head burning with furious pain. Raynvir hesitantly pushed his husband's hair away from his face, a tsunami of a feeling coming forward towards him as he watched his love roll over, a sneer plastering itself on his face.

"Vilkas, Vilkas!" his twin called out hastily, his voice shaking. "Are you ok!? Talk!"

The Companion looked from the corner of his eye, the look on his face glacial and stone-cold. He turned his gaze onto Raynvir, sending his blood to freeze like the icicles that hung from his house in the winter. Rayn felt a smile form on his lips as he returned the stare he received. It was a feeling he couldn't describe, a feeling of happiness, of a self-proclaimed pride. Something was feeling right from within him, although the look on his husband's face was almost ungrateful, harsh with little emotion.

"Raynvir," Vil muttered out. His voice was weak, shaken up, yet that didn't stop Rayn from answering his love.

"Good morning," he replied. A joke it was meant as, although he beat down the urge to kick himself for saying such a thing in front of his weakened husband. "I found Farkas here holding you like a baby," he added, trying to soften the harshness that forced its way into his voice. "I tried a healing spell on you; how are you feeling?"

His husband rose up, his arm shuddering. His body felt flimsy before his shield-siblings, gathering himself. "Damned," he spat, coming closer to Rayn before locking him into a tight, air-shattering hug.

Rayn enjoyed moments like that. A moment where nothing could bother him, a moment where nothing could hurt him or the one he loved. Coming to that ruin suddenly seemed like a blessed idea as he breathed in Vil's musky scent. He planted a small, yet inviting kiss on his love's cheek. His skin was hot, heated by the oppressive air around them. Although in his mind, he told himself moments like that were rare. He had learned over the years that Vilkas was not one of public affection, and his love for him prompted him to understand it. Usually, Rayn was just another Companion, another whelp who wandered into Jorrvaskr without any mind.

Something was different about that time.

Vilkas pulled away, his hands still shaking. He simply grinned; a smile from him was never present, Rayn realized. He spoke, his voice almost coming close to a whisper, "You may have saved my life, but your still going to my bitch at the end of the day."

Rayn chuckled. The old Vilkas was back, the one he initially fell in love with. The sharp tongue and feistiness made no attempt to provoke him, although at first it only befuddled him. He smiled, placing a cool hand on his husband's cheek. _You're going to be okay, love, _he mused. _I'm not going to let you get hurt. _The voice in his head told him to react, a force he couldn't resist. "That's why I will always love you," he finally said.

And Vilkas knew that was true.


End file.
